


;;-->> egal

by Black



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Black Light - James Swallow, Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Jensard if you wanna read it that way i suppose, M/M, Shakespeare references because im a weeb, physical touch between two fucking idiot men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 01:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21045713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black/pseuds/Black
Summary: Pritchard toes the edge of the stage and sways as if threatening to bow, dream eating the red curtains he wishes would fall. Here we are - all the world a stage - and on the eve of a great awakening, Adam Jensen opens a single eye to spy on him through the dusk.the dust.the ghastly applause.





	;;-->> egal

**Author's Note:**

> i finally edited this piece after like two months. 
> 
> enjoy.

So, this is it?

Pritchard glances upon the torn, frayed seats of the Detroit theater - beholding Adam in all his **Jensen** glory draped across two of the neatest ones. He looks at peace and all of that but Frank knows him well enough to know that he’s unsettled deep down. 

He swears they’ve moved past this place - haven’t they?

Pritchard toes the edge of the stage and sways as if threatening to bow, dream eating the red curtains he wishes would fall. Here we are - all the world a stage - and on the eve of a great awakening, Adam Jensen opens a single eye to spy on him through the dusk. 

the dust. 

the ghastly applause. 

“Shakespeare would have cast you to play a woman,” he jests quietly, sounding so unlike himself through the pinnacle of human emotion, “or rather a man playing a woman.” 

Pritchard raises a brow and in a moment of insecurity, lifts his hand to thumb hair from his face. Pouting, he counters with, “That’s very sexist of you.” It’s intended as a joke back but Pritchard is surprised by the own animosity in his voice. He licks over his teeth and allows his shoulders to sag, backing out of the warped spotlight as apparitions tease their need to perform. 

“Is it?” 

Adam closes his eyes again and shifts, easing. Pritchard admires his profile - not in a romantic, puppy-dog way, but in how you behold a corpse at a funeral type of way. You wish you would have spent more time with them. You say your prayers. And then you bury them.

“Sorry,” Adam says through the fog and filthy air - but it does not cloud the genuine tipping of the word. Frank wants to chew into him. He wants to tell him to shut the fuck up. That he’s missed his bullshit heckling. He wants to wrap his hands around Adam’s throat and demand that he never apologize for -

grim; Pritchard growls in anger. 

He grumbles something in response and whips away from center stage, hovering through his violent tendencies and thumbing through his delights. He looks at the pilling of his hands and knows this must be a dream, butterflying up his stomach and petaling through his lips. 

A sigh. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

He descends slowly down the side staircase, shoulders weighted as he walks cattishly around the ruined bits of leftover set - browned with what he’s guessing to be incident related blood. The tension hairline crackles like glass. Adam remains unmoving. 

But he does pay attention again, eyes open and observing. 

He neither denies nor acknowledges the accusation  
but he does look sad. 

The fucking bastard.

Pritchard’s bottom jaw quivers as he holds back all of his teeth. Adam couldn’t help that he had basically been kidnapped but Frank still wants to be the one to eviscerate him - tell him how Sarif needed him, how the world needed him, how Frank didn’t fucking need him but it sure have would been nice to keep his fucking job and to keep Sarif industries from collapsing - 

The lights shimmer and pulse, the predator inside of him bristling with the inane want to both run away and kick up his feet in bloody laughter. 

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Adam saves him the embarrassment of having to explain himself, “That’s very sweet of you to notice.” 

The fleeting fury leaves him winded, his heavy brows easing as he looks over Adam Jensen in all of his _I’m very much alive_ glory and allows his face to speak for him. for once. The aforementioned stares, the tension strung red between them simmering now to a bare minimum. 

His eyes flicker to the seat next to his head before shifting to rest on Frank once longer - head in tilt as his eyes become just a little softer. Pritchard thinks he looks rather childish in an endearing sort of sense - augged to death and back, dressed for war, and he’s laying across theater seats like a cranky five-year-old that can’t get his way and mother _told_ him to get a good nights sleep but -

Frank drops into the chair next to him, the anger sinking from his shoulders and glittering into the dust of old, gold, and all the fruits of love between. The old stage creaks as they both bear witness to its entire world, an empty ribcage. 

All the people in this world have their entrances and exits - drifting in through the many parts they play in life and donning their masks to fool the world of their roles. Pritchard, and he does try to recall, cannot think of a time where he’s been genuine with Adam -

well, possibly, right before they lost contact -

he wonders if Adam still thinks of that as much as he does. 

Pritchard startles as Adam breaks character and plucks his hand from his knee, cradling it against his shoulder so the outer swell of his thumb caresses that finely groomed jaw. They exist in the belly of renaissance and acrylic, posing prettily in the aftermath of a fictional bloodletting that became real for hundreds of people in attendance - 

and here they are; Adam sighs like a furnace and Pritchard listens to his heart pound some woeful ballad. 

They'll both step down as players for the next few hours, gazing upon the center stage in all her glory - admiring the end of a world from an audience perspective. 

And they’ll return soon to play their parts -

but for now, the act is fumbling to a close. Their earlier conflict has been rendered pointless and Pritchard allows himself a rare moment of fleeting emotion in admitting to himself that he’s missed Adam’s presence. His hand eases, fingers stroking Jensen’s jaw as his former co-worker keeps his childish hold

both unwilling to break eye contact with the strangest event in all of their history - peace between them.


End file.
